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1

Africa Games 2000, Nairobi, Kenya

The crowd behind were starting to push. Solomon turned
to look, wedged beneath his father’s armpit, but all he could see
was a tangle of arm and torso, flushed and angry faces craning to get
a glimpse of the fight. They had arrived late. The doors were shut
and locked. On the other side of the doors all were turned to the
fight. The first heave caught Solomon's father unawares and he lost
his footing and was forced to brace himself with one hand against the
glass. Solomon edged beneath the stretched arm and slid into the
protecting space of a jutting edge of brick. The songs of the crowd
had turned to shouts of anger. Across from Solomon was a policeman
not much older than himself. He too had been trapped outside when the
doors slammed shut. The policeman was struggling to keep the dignity
of an upright position, trying to lever himself above the young men
straining to see past him, crushed against him. His cap had been
nudged back on his head, releasing baubles of sweat that slid down
the tribal scars cut vertically in his face. In one hand he held his
baton, prodding it into the crowd. But those forced against him could
do little to relieve the crush. Hundreds had been trapped in the
narrow corridor. Hundreds who had come to see the Games, many of them
waving tickets. But Solomon could see through the glass that the
arena was full. In the centre the dancing boxers were nearly obscured
by the leaning crowd that urged the local fighter on.